I'm sending this letter from a very waterlogged Northern Virginia. I think it has rained for two weeks straight, and it shows no signs of abating for at least two more weeks. Despite the rain—or because of the rain?—the bird feeders we put up on the first weekend of spring have been extremely well-visited. We've counted two dozen species: The regulars include the tufted titmouse, Carolina chickadee, and the bully blue jay; little sparrows, the white-throated variety with its high-pitched song, the chipping sparrow with an orange cap, and the rarely seen, shy dark-eyed junco; the white-breasted nuthatch that walks the trees with its head turned upside-down; speaking of trees, we have at least three-woodpeckers, the downy, the pileated, and the poorly named red-bellied; we have the colorful American goldfinch, pine warbler, and indigo bunting; lately, we have newcomers in the brown-headed cowbird and the gray catbird; in pairs come the mourning doves and cardinals; after many weeks of waiting and with no fewer than four nectar feeders set as lures, we finally got a hummingbird; in the trees, looking down at the feeders shyly, perch the American robin and the Eastern phoebe; the rose-breasted grosbeak swoops down when he thinks he's alone; the big ugly American crow likes to strut along the ground and scare the other birds away; once, when I was gone, Samir watched a red-tailed hawk swoop down, grab one of the squirrels we cannot keep from the seed cakes in its talons, and carry him, dying, into the air while the other squirrels scrambled after it, chattering inconsolably.
What I've Been Writing:
On the digital divide and millennials, and on a program that pays ex-offenders not to commit crimes.
What I've Been Watching and Reading:
I'm ashamed to say my longform consumption has been lagging, not least because I've been working on something that required all my attention. But while I was at an Easter dinner, someone described the Starz series Outlander to me as a sort of feminist Quantum Leap, which is basically exactly what you'd say to me to get me interested in a show. I watched it almost overnight in a kind of fevered binge right before the start of the second season, and also started reading the books. Warning: There's a lot of sexual violence, I didn't like the first-season finale, and there's actually—God help me—way too much sex, but I still can't stop. I'm obsessed. It's the most fun I've had in a long time.
The books are misclassified as romances, which might have kept me from consuming them if Emily Nussbaum hadn't been there to save me from my snobbery, but I'm glad I've found them. Enjoying them has started me thinking about reading, and pleasure, and how we classify things, and what we elevate and why. The only reason I can think that the books are in the romance pink ghetto—as opposed to just being called books, like the Game of Thrones series, which deals with a similar level of magic and sex—and why romance must be considered a lesser genre as well—is that the love, sex, and desire is told from a woman's point of view. I mean, good Lord, can't a woman have an adventure?
The Americans is the best show on television, hands down, and Captain America: Civil War is a lot of fun.
What I'm Listening To:
Baltimore: The Rise of Charm City. Subscribe now to support its future!
What I'm Recommending:
WorkFlowy for work. I never thought to-do lists could be so much fun.
Cute Animal Pic of the Week:
Most of the birds fly away when they so much as sense a camera or phone being lifted. But the chickadee doesn't seem to mind people, or cats, at all.
